


Syndrome

by quinndk



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apocalypse, Body Horror, Eventual Romance, Gay, Gay Male Character, Horror, Infection, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Male Slash, Original Character(s), Pandemic - Freeform, Quarantine, Slash, Survival Horror, Thriller, Toronto, Vampires, m/m - Freeform, vampire apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:35:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23774686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinndk/pseuds/quinndk
Summary: A city plagued with vampires. A survivor determined to escape. A nightmare without end…Adam doesn’t trust others. That’s why the resourceful but socially awkward loner is trying to get out of Toronto as quickly as he can – but the vampire infection has transformed his hometown into a city of the dead. It’s not until he falls in with a dysfunctional group of survivors, including handsome firefighter Grant, that he begins to question the walls he’s built around himself.But something else prowls through the city’s army of bloodthirsty monsters. Something that wants Adam all for itself. Something that’ll do anything to get him.Soon, the survivors discover there’s more to this outbreak - and each other - than meets the eye. And the vampires are just the beginning of the nightmare...
Kudos: 8





	1. Introduction, Prologue, and Adam

**Characters**

**ADAM**

_Determined, resourceful, and intelligent. Adam is deeply uneasy around others for reasons he'd rather not share. He may put up the front of a hardened isolationist, but he is vulnerable and - if you catch him at the right moment - capable of great kindness. He is focused on escaping the city to be reunited with his sister, the last family he has. As the vampire outbreak continues to spiral out of control with no end in sight, he has no choice but to put his misanthropy aside and seek refuge with a community of survivors before he can leave the city for good._

**GRANT**

_A compassionate firefighter who grows protective of Adam after they meet. Although level headed and a strong fighter, his fellow survivors find him aloof and intimidating. Can they trust this man, or is he waiting for an opportunity to strike out on his own? Adam is the only person who sees something different in him - a gentle giant with an affectionate heart._

**DARCY**

_A former rescue pilot and the (somewhat unwilling) leader of a school emergency shelter. She is capable, strong, and quick thinking, but burdened with the failures of her past. She butts heads with those around her often, most notably Grant. Darcy doesn't suffer fools, but when her respect is earned, she's fiercely loyal._

**RISHAAN**

_A pediatrician with abandoned aspirations of being an actor, Rishaan is the shelter's doctor and go-to therapist. Although highly overwhelmed with the apocalyptic crisis, he manages to hide his panic better than others. His empathetic and perceptive manner has made him a much loved and appreciated figure._

**FATIMA**

_An older Iranian-Canadian woman who supported her family by becoming a fortune teller. She is by turns both the warmest and most brutally honest of the shelter survivors, unafraid to voice her opinions and comfort those in need. But lately, she's been having strange nightmares..._

**KEVIN**

_A young police officer and aspiring YouTuber. With fantasies of making it big as the first vampire apocalypse influencer, he is constantly filming himself and the other shelter survivors, much to their annoyance. Despite his job, he's apprehensive about facing danger unless it'll make for a good video._

**NIKLAS**

_A Finnish man, handsome and charismatic, and the newest survivor at the school shelter after Adam. He is visibly wealthy, though he keeps the finer details of his life to himself. His low key and easygoing personality allows him to form something of a friendship with Adam._

* * *

**Prologue**

**One Month Ago**

A subway train rumbles through the dark stretch north of Eglinton to York Mills station. Its passengers, bleary from the stresses of the work day, silently run out the remainder of their trips with smartphones, books, or naps.

All except one.

A man walks from car to car, shuffling on shaky feet. He is middle aged and thin, his business suit hanging off his frame like a wire hanger. His skin is wet and unusually clammy, as if the pigment had been leeched dry. He is balding, although this is only a recent development. Every morning for the past week he’s woken to clumps of hair on his pillow, accompanied by a low grade fever and a thirst that never seems to satiate itself, no matter how many bottles of water he downs every day.

His family thinks he works at a hospital. This is partly a lie, but his family will not live long enough to find out the truth. Neither will any of the people on this train.

The man worries his jaw, over and over, kneading it from some indescribable pain. The other passengers don’t notice or don't care. He stops at one of the doors and leans his hot forehead against the window. Light from the tunnel strobes across his twitching face.

Although the York Mills stop is close, the train comes to a gradual, whining halt in the middle of the tunnel.

“Sorry folks,” the operator announces through the overhead speakers. “Some track problems up ahead. We’ll be sitting cozy here for a moment.”

Groans and murmurs from the passengers.

The man’s bloodshot eyes screw tight. The last thing he wants to hear. He opens his mouth to complain but something falls out instead. It lands on one of his polished black Italian loafers. Something roughly the size of a small bullet, the color of ivory, floating in saliva speckled with red.

A tooth.

The man sucks in a sharp breath. His jaw pain is worse now, agonizing. He puts one shaking finger into his mouth and flicks the space left by the tooth. Instead of gum, he feels something sharp, almost like the tip of a knife. He tries to cry out but only a mute sob escapes his throat.

Someone finally notices him. A woman in a nice coat and a Nora Roberts paperback on her lap. She sees the tooth, puddled on the man’s shoe in bloody saliva. Her face is uncomprehending at first. But then another tooth falls out of the man’s mouth. _Plink_. Then another. And another. _Plink, plink_.

The woman bolts to her feet. As the Nora Roberts novel hits the train floor, the man with the jaw pain stares at her. The look on his twisted face is something new and alien, an expression she’s never seen before.

Then, as every vein in his body screams with thirst, the man takes a step toward her. 

* * *

**Chapter 1: Adam**

**Now**

I open my eyes right before the claws and teeth tear into my skin.

A strangled cry escapes my throat. I clutch at my neck, slick with sweat, breathing hard. Part of me is relieved I didn’t scream this time. Better a cry than a scream. It’s quieter.

Grey light creeps through the blinds of the apartment windows. I’m no longer able to differentiate morning, noon, and dusk – they all look the same now. Much of the city is on fire and the sky has dimmed, like an old light bulb. The result is twelve hours of an eerie, perpetual twilight followed by oppressively dark nights.

I lift myself off the bed and blink the sleep out of my system. I'm already dressed: black jeans, combat boots, a blue t-shirt that clings to my torso, fingerless gloves that help with gripping and climbing. I learned the hard way to keep everything on while sleeping, especially my knife sheath.

The sheath is secure around my right thigh. I check, re-check. The straps are tight. I slip into my jacket, grab my bag. It’s a canvas shoulder bag, the one Oliver gave me as a present for getting into grad school.

 _Oliver_ -

No. Don’t need to think about him now. Useless. I shove the image of his handsome, smiling face back into the darkness before it morphs into the new face, the one with the hollow black eyes and cruel, snarling mouth.

Back to the shoulder bag. I grip it, force myself to focus. The bag. Okay. It’s not ideal when I need to run, but retrieving or storing things is quick and easy. I don’t have or need much: a few survival items, phone charger, a package with the escape route Oliver and I planned.

 _Oliver_.

Not again. Please, get out of my head. A large lump forms in my throat.

I move on quickly, shoving it all away again.

Goggles and kerchief are next. In this apartment there’s a mirror by the door, and I stare at my reflection while adjusting the cloth around my neck. I try to ignore how gaunt and dirty I look. I rework the straps of the motorcycle goggles I snatched from an empty garage and place them across my forehead. I’ll need them if the smoke outside gets any worse.

On my way out I look at my phone. Still no signal. Maybe I’m crazy for checking so often, but I had at least one bar for a few minutes two days ago. It was weak but two text messages managed to come through. I’ve been watching out for another signal ever since. A boy can dream, can’t I?

I leave the apartment and take the stairs down, two steps at a time. I haven’t seen or heard anyone else in the building since I broke in last night. If there are any survivors left in the city, they’re staying out of the downtown core. I do everything in my power to avoid crossing paths with anybody, pulse or no pulse. Desperation has turned people paranoid and violent.

Can’t say I really blame them, considering what comes out at night...

I peek through the foyer windows. A burning car smolders just outside the entrance. The restaurant across the street has been looted. Shards of broken glass everywhere. But I see no people. Good.

I burst through the atrium doors and move quickly down the road. By my estimation it’ll be another day until I can reach North York. Maybe a day and a half. The Greater Toronto Area is much larger than most people realize, and traversing on foot is challenging even without the threat of death around every street corner.

Getting out of the city became a priority after I got those text messages the other day. My breath hitches when my memory summons it:

_Adam, if u have cell service – I’m still in Vancouver . whole world is watching – please be SAFE. I know you and I never really_

There was a five minute delay until the second text:

_Please just get out of there alive. I can’t lose my baby brother again_

These messages give me a reason to wake up and move. Just knowing the world outside of Toronto still exists, that it's safe beyond the barricaded walls of this dead city, that my sister who hasn't spoken to me in years is waiting to see me again…

Damn it, Thea.

I’m down to half a bottle of water. Finished off my last protein bar yesterday. Or the day before? Can't remember. I’ll need more supplies if I’m going to make the journey all the way up to North York. If I knew how to drive, that’d be something, but pre-pandemic me never saw the value in driving. Hah. I could slap myself on the wrist and be all _shucks, if only I knew!_ But how could I - any of us - have known what was coming?

A bus, further down the road. It’s blocking the alley I was planning to cut through. It’s also on fire. The next alley over is jammed with police blockades and flaming debris stacked at least eight feet high. I hate using the main streets, where I can run into looters, gunners, or worse. But I don’t have a choice right now so I hitch my kerchief over my nose and mouth as the air grows heavy with smoke.

Avoiding the flames lashing from the bus windows, I take a left and find myself on King Street. On a normal day it would be crowded with people in power suits hailing taxis and Ubers while assistants and interns scrabble onto streetcars with trays of coffee.

Today, a ghost town lies before me.

Empty skyscrapers stand on silent guard as my boots echo off the road. Shattered pavement and glass crunch beneath my feet, making me wince with every footstep. I navigate around the numerous crashed and abandoned vehicles: family sedans, news vans, a fire truck knocked on its side. There are bodies. Some are vampires that have been caught in the daylight and are now shriveled, blackened corpses. The rest are victims of gunfire, violence, and hysteria. I do my best to ignore them.

I watched this city die with my own eyes. Thousands of people are either infected or rotting in buildings, streets, ditches. This is a tragedy so vast it’s nearly incomprehensible. If I want to survive, I have to close my eyes, my heart, and keep moving.

A brief search of an emergency vehicle yields nothing, it’s already been picked clean. I lean against the cool metal of the ambulance body. It takes everything not to scream. I’ve been dizzy since I woke up and my hungry body is letting itself be heard, loud and clear. And then I hear something else.

“HELP ME!”

The wailing cry of someone in pain. Every nerve and cell of my body snap to attention. The voice is close.

“PLEASE! ANYBODY!”

I screw my eyes shut, as if that’ll make the desperate pleas vanish. I can’t afford to help anyone. I can barely help myself. I have nothing. But…

_Here you go again, playing the bleeding heart avenger when the only person you should be worried about is yourself._

What if I was the one in danger? Wouldn’t I be relying on a stranger, too? Wouldn’t I want someone, anyone to reach out?

Despite my trepidation, and the nagging voices in my head I find myself moving in the direction of the noise. The knife on my hip has already been unsheathed. If help this person, maybe they can help me. Or they’ll know someone who can. Someone with food…

The voice leads me into a nearby brick building. I duck through the half-collapsed entrance into a reception area. Some kind of office, looks like. It’d be non-descript if it weren’t absolutely trashed, tables and chairs flipped over, supplies everywhere, walls riddled with bullets and dried blood. A very, very large part of me wants to turn back and run. But there’s no way this could be a vampire trying to trick me. Vamps aren’t able to mimic human voices; their throats mutate during infection. Communication, if any, is limited to clicks and growls and shouts.

“Please, I-I can hear you. I’m hurt bad, I can’t move.” The plea comes from a male voice, desperate and blubbery. “Hello? Is someone there?”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I call into the stuttering lights of the otherwise dark building. “As long as no one gets crazy. Okay?”

“Okay…”

“I have a knife. I’m holding it up for my protection.”

“Please, just hurry. I think I’m gonna pass out.”

“How bad are you hurt?”

“Real bad.”

Every muscle in my body tenses. I shouldn’t be doing this. This isn’t me. But I’m desperate. If there’s even the slightest chance that this man has access to food and water…

The next room is an open office area, a sea of empty, trashed desks. Anything that hasn’t been stolen is smashed to pieces. A man is curled up in the corner of the large room. I click my flashlight on, making him wince. He’s dressed in rags, tears streaming down his dirty face. He’s older with either a bald or shaved head. Beneath the dirt he’s probably as pale as I am. My flashlight trails his clothes, down his arms and legs, looking for signs of injury.

“Can you stand?”

He shakes his head. I step closer.

“Listen. I’m trying to get to North York. I can help you, but I need to know if you have food or water. Or if you know people who do. I have things to trade: batteries, matches, flares.”

His lips part, a slanted grin revealing yellowed teeth. “That’s not very neighborly of you.”

Now that I’m closer, something about the man isn’t sitting well with me. It’s his expression. It’s too… eager.

“I’m only trying to get by.”

“Aren’t we all.”

His voice is different. Plain, unbothered. Almost calm. The desperation and suffering have vanished, making my blood run cold.

I have to leave. Now.

The man laughs at me as I begin to retreat. It’s a hacking, drunken noise, which has the double effect of pebbling the skin of my forearms and quickening my steps into a full run. I knew I shouldn’t have done this. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_.

I race down the corridor, not hearing the thudding footsteps behind me until it’s too late. Something heavy and blunt strikes the back of my head and ignites hot, radiating waves of pain. My outstretched hand only manages to brush the knob of the exit door before everything goes black.


	2. Adam

**ONE MONTH AGO**

_Excerpt from the Toronto Star News Digital Archive, dated 09/04/2021_ :

 **BREAKING** : The Public Health Agency of Canada has declared a city wide quarantine of the Greater Toronto Area (GTA). Military barricades are being erected from Mississauga to Scarborough while Public Health waits for the infection rates of ‘thirst fever’ to flatten.

This news follows yesterday’s report from the World Health Organization, which assessed the local thirst fever outbreak as an epidemic. An epidemic is classified as the widespread occurrence of an infectious disease isolated to one community at a particular time.

Publicly reported and confirmed cases of thirst fever have approached 94,000 as of yesterday. No cases have been reported from outside the GTA so far.

Travel to or from the GTA is now suspended indefinitely. Military personnel will distribute food and supplies; drop off schedules are currently pending.

Citizens are asked to remain calm and in their homes at all times.

**NOW**

My eyes snap open to the sensation of metal clamping around my wrist. I spring forward but don’t make it farther than a few inches off the ground. I’m still in the office building, in some kind of conference room against a brick wall and surrounded by glass. My arms are looped around a radiator pipe on the floor. 

The son of a bitch handcuffed me.

“The name’s Hank, if you were wondering.” He’s crouched halfway across the room and rifling through my messenger bag. And he’s got my knife.

“I wasn’t.”

My jacket’s gone. It’s cold in here. My head is throbbing like an erupted volcano and I could have done without being smacked with what felt like a chunk of cinderblock, but I’m alright otherwise. At least I won’t be dying from a concussion tonight. Small comfort.

Hank drops my stuff and approaches me. Now that he's dropped his helpless act, I can see he’s limber and spry-looking, with a devious, crooked smile that seems permanently etched onto his face.

“Why you looking so confused, pretty boy?” He hitches up his pants, squats down, folds his hands. As if we’re buddies. “I wouldn’t sweat it. This’ll be over in a heartbeat.”

I fix him with a murderous glare. “Why are you doing this?”

“I'm doing what any man worth his salt should be doing. I’m adapting. If you haven’t made a deal with the vampires yet, too bad, too sad.”

“’Deal’?”

It’s not until the word leaves my mouth that I realize the grey light of day is no longer creeping through the building windows.

Fuck. No.

I struggle against my constraints. There’s a slight give to the radiator pipe, maybe I’ve shaken one of the screws loose. Before I can test my theory further, I notice Hank pulling my knife from its sheath.

“I hear they like it when someone’s fighting till the end. Guess the struggling makes the blood taste better.”

“Let me go!”

“Or what, pretty boy? You gonna glare at me death?”

The sound of a door slamming forces me to suck in a breath. The mirth on Hank’s face vanishes, and a knowing darkness replaces it. He grabs a handful of my hair and brings his hot, stinking mouth up against my ear. The knife - _my_ knife - presses against my throat.

“I’ve got a ticket out of this hell hole,” he whispers. “Our fangy friends will shred your body to ground beef in exchange for making me one of theirs. So you’re going to stay right where you are.”

“Fuck you, you freak,” I try to say, but the blade on my jugular ensures the words don’t get far.

Another door slams in the distance followed by a rush of heavy footsteps.

“Ha-HOO!” Hank exclaims. “The whole gang’s here! Hope they’re as hungry as they sound.”

“Wait,” I say, my voice small and innocent. “Get me out of this and I’ll do anything. I swear.”

The vampires are close enough that I can hear the awful, scuttling noises their throats make. Like wet garbage being forced through a blender in slow motion.

“Anything?” His smile falters and then he brightens again, thinking. There’s interest in his voice. He wasn’t calling me pretty boy for nothing.

“I promise!”

“How about you be more specific?” He leans in, finally easing the pressure of the blade off my neck.

That’s my cue.

I clamp my legs around Hank's neck, trapping his throat between my thighs until he drops the knife. His eyes burn, stricken with fear and fury as he struggles to free himself. The more he tries to pull himself out of the leg lock, the looser the radiator pipe I'm handcuffed to becomes.

"You… fucking…!" His words are lost in the black denim squeezing against his throat.

See you how like it, asshole.

Summoning the last of my strength, I pull on the chain of my handcuffs as hard as I can. I’m rewarded with the sound of the old, rusty radiator pipe finally breaking free. Before Hank can even process what’s happening I slam it across his face. I release him from the leg lock and his stunned body falls backward.

The vampires have entered the corridor outside the conference room. I don’t look up as I scramble for my bag. The last thing I need to see are their rictus grins, mottled grey skin, or those dead, black eyes. But I can hear them. Tapping their fingernails against the glass, panting and moaning with hungry anticipation. No. Don’t look. Find your knife.

My knife. Fuck, where did it go? Where did Hank drop it?

Enough. No time.

I bolt toward the only other exit in the room: the windows. I wrench one of them open to find a fire exit a quick drop away. My body is halfway out of the ledge when a hand grabs and twists the back of my t-shirt. I throw a glance behind me, fearing the demonic, black-eyed face that might be staring back. But it’s Hank.

“FUCKER!” he shouts in my face, furiously blinking blood from his eyes. I’ve never seen rage like this before. Screaming, I thrash in his grip. Asshole’s got me good. He starts to drag me back into the building but I kick out and strike his torso - hard enough that I hope I crack his rib. He flails back as the glass walls of the meeting room explode. I tumble back out of the window ledge and onto the fire exit. As soon as I hit the steel walkway, Hank's terrified voice cries out among a chorus of throaty snarls and clicks. 

“WAIT! WE HAD A DEAL!” he cries. “WE HAD A-”

He finishes his sentence with an ungodly, painful scream. The horrible noise propels me forward as I take a running leap off the fire exit. I tuck and roll, the hard asphalt of the alley below biting my shoulder as I land. I come to my feet, disoriented and winded, but pushing myself to keep moving. I try to throw on my shoulder bag but realize with a sting of horror that I can't - with handcuffed arms it's just too impractical and unwieldy. And I need to move right now before the vampires finish tearing Hank apart. Fucking hell. I'll have to leave it, only take the essentials…

 _I'm sorry, Oliver_.

Frantically, I empty the contents of the bag onto the asphalt. Most of my stuff has been taken by Hank. The only things I have room for in my jean pockets are an emergency flare and - thank fuck it's still there - the folded map with my escape route. Above me, Hank's shrieks continue, seeded with ravenous, wet tearing noises.

I look up just in time to see a vampire slithering out of the building window. Its pale face and gnarled fingers are slick and wet with blood. It spots me immediately and unleashes a hungry wail. I throw myself backward as it jumps and lands several feet away with unnerving grace. It runs, no - _sprints_ after me. A new infected. The older ones are slow.

As I race out of the alley, Hank's dying screams follow me. He cries out and out, as though his soul is being soaked in gasoline and lit, sent howling out of his mouth to shrivel and die in midair. Don't rest in peace, asshole.

The only way out is a door straight ahead. I shoulder into it, bursting into the remains of a looted convenience store. The oily, pungent scent of leaking gas fills my nostrils, distracting me for a fraction of a second too long. The vampire pounces me from behind, sending both of us crashing into an empty shelf. The momentum throws the beast off me, but it's reflexes are sharp, and it grabs my ankle to take me down as it falls. Coughing, seeing stars, I grope blindly for anything to pull myself away. With my hands still cuffed, this is agonizingly awkward. The monster howls, its ugly tongue flicking against the piercing edges of its many teeth. Its hungry. I can see the wrinkles deepening around its dead eyes and sallow, pockmarked skin. The mouth is always the worst part: lips stretched thin, split corners bleeding profusely, and rows upon rows of bone white fangs. The face of a vampire is one of nightmares. It's certainly the face of mine.

Despite my thrashing and kicking, the vampire pulls me closer with no effort at all. But I have leverage now that I'm under it. I kick out from beneath its chest and send it flying backward. The monster unleashes another wail, one of rage rather than craving. I hear something else behind it - hissing gas. The burst valve is right there, just a foot behind it. 

As the hideous beast rights itself, I pull out my one and only emergency flare. This grabs its attention. Only one chance. Can't fuck this up. The vampire stares, growling, evaluating, as I tear off the plastic cap and strike the tip against the coarse end. As soon as it sparks to life, igniting the room in a brilliant orange glow, I simultaneously hurl the flare at the monster and leap for the exit door.

_Shhhhhh-BOOOOM!_

I feel the explosion as much as I hear it, a terrifying displacement of fiery air that shoves me hard in the direction I jumped. My body slams against the exit door and then I'm on the cool sidewalk, my body aching, ears ringing, the whole world blotting out in strobing shades of white and red.

I blink and try to widen my watering eyes to the sight of the fire-engulfed store. Only the lashing of flames can be seen behind the broken windows. Vampires are invulnerable to a lot things, but being blown apart by a gas explosion isn't one of them.

I seriously can't believe I just did that. And _lived_.

Sore, dizzy, and in terrible need of a cheeseburger, I get to my feet and wipe my slick forehead with the back of my forearm. To think this whole sordid series of events started because I thought someone vulnerable was in need of help… and I was stupid enough to fall for it.

Won't be doing that again.

I turn away from the burning store and continue my journey. There's no way this night can possibly get any worse.


	3. Adam

Once the dizziness clears, I run and run until my legs feel like they’re ready to snap off. Then I ignore it and keep running. My peripheral vision becomes a blur of burning buildings and destroyed vehicles. I don’t focus too long on any one thing. If I do, that’s when the grey faces and bloody claws emerge from the crevices…

During my escape I swear I can hear the sound of skidding tires and a moving car - but that’s impossible. No one in their right mind would be driving downtown at night, the center of hell itself. Unless they're looters with a death wish. The thought makes me pump my legs even harder.

Finally, I reach the outside of a public building. It's the Parkdale community center off Queen Street. Fuck, I’ve been running for a while. I push through the front doors and take a quick inventory of my surroundings: an abandoned atrium, a linoleum floor dashed with dried blood, rotting food, and soil from knocked over plants. It's not until I reach the reception desk that I realize I'm about to collapse. My legs turn to jelly and I fall, only barely catching the desk surface before my knees hit the ground.

My shoulder hurts like a motherfucker, my handcuffed wrists are swollen and bloody, and the back of my head is still pounding. I can't pass out here. I don't even know if I'm alone.

_Come on Adam. Be where you are. Stay present._

I'm relieved to an embarrassing degree to find a cache of hidden water bottles under the desk. With trembling hands, I down an entire bottle in seconds. I drink a second one, slower this time, relishing every drop of liquid.

Then I hear it again: the screeching tires. That car that I heard further down the street… is it following me?

I duck beneath the desk. The vehicle's headlights roll across the atrium and cast a harsh glare in the otherwise pitch black room. I squint, adjusting to the change in light, praying the driver moves on fast.

But the headlights stay put. And I hear the sound of a car door opening and closing.

"Hello?" a man shouts from the front entrance. He steps in front of the headlights and his silhouette projects onto the wall behind the front desk. In his right hand he carries something with a long handle and a blade. It looks like a fire axe. "Hey, is anyone in here?"

I shut my eyes and will myself to stay silent and invisible. _Go away, go away, go away_.

"Look," the man says. "I'm not going to hurt you. There's a shelter east of here. It's a private school. There are other survivors and we have food and water. It's safe."

 _Liar_.

It can't be a coincidence that that I heard his car so close to the building where Hank trapped me. There's probably a whole gang of vamp-worshipping psychos in the area, scouring every street and building for survivors to feed to their masters.

Even if this man is telling the truth - and I have zero reason to believe that - I don't care. I'm not interested in singing campfire songs and making friendship bracelets with anyone while we wait for help that's never coming. I just want this idiot to stop shouting into the night and leave. Sound attracts vamps.

_So shut up already!_

"Alright, I get it," he says. "If you change your mind, we're at St. Peters Academy in Scarborough. The school's surrounded by tall gates, so we're protected. My name's Grant, if you ever…"

He trails off, sounding defeated.

After what feels like an eternity, the man takes the hint and heads back to his car. It peels out of the parking lot a moment later. Without the headlights, darkness swallows the atrium once again. I breathe, a great pressure lifting away. Too close.

Emerging from behind the desk, I take one look across the atrium and gasp.

Someone cloaked in shadow is standing on the other side of the atrium and staring at me. In the darkness, I can barely make out the figure's features, but it looks vaguely like a woman, or maybe a very thin man, deathly pale and with long, black hair curtaining their face.

"You scared me," I shout, and immediately feel stupid. I can barely hear my own words over the thundering beat of my heart.

They're not a vampire, whoever they are. The infected start to lose all their hair once they get sick. Besides, they act on predatory instincts. This person would have attacked me by now if they were a vamp. But those thoughts don't provide much comfort. How long have they been standing there? Why didn't they react when the man in the car came inside?

"Stay where you are." I hold a hand out, feeling like an idiot for losing my knife. I'm defenseless. "I'm just moving through. I didn't know anyone was here. Okay? I'll leave."

The figure remains rooted to the spot. My eyes never leave them as I approach the front doors. The closer I get, the more I notice something is… wrong. The person is tall, bizarrely so, at least seven feet. Maybe it's the shadows messing with my eyes, but their arms appear to reach the floor. I can't make out their face at all yet somehow, I can tell they're smiling.

Goosebumps spray across my arms. "I'm leaving now."

Silence. Why aren't they saying anything? 

I step through the doors and back into the cool night air. My pace quickens across the parking lot, to the sidewalk, then to the soccer field surrounding the community center. I refuse to look back or give another thought to what I just saw. Keep moving. Don't stop. 

I'm halfway across the soccer field when I hear rapidly approaching footsteps clawing through the grass behind me.


	4. Grant

The radio I keep on my belt beeps to life. Darcy crackles from the speakers, filling the entire jeep with her impatient voice.

"Grant. Pick up, it's me."

Keeping both eyes on the road and one hand on the wheel, I bring the radio to my ear and hit transmission. "Grant here."

"Status."

"Swell as can be. Peachy, even."

A labored sigh from her end. "Status means I'm asking if you've found any survivors, not how you're doing. We've been over this."

"Copy, copy, alpha one."

"And we're not doing nicknames. Stop calling me that."

"Well, it doesn't make sense for you to be alpha two."

"Grant, please, I have a headache."

"You always have a headache when you call me."

"Imagine that."

"Haven't seen any survivors yet. Just a whole lot of fangs."

"Alright, so what's the ETA on you getting your lumberjack butt back here?"

"I'll be at the school in twenty minutes, tops. Go see Fatima, she's got some aspirin. I know Rishaan's the doc but I wouldn’t wake him. Man needs his beauty sleep."

"You know I don't like you doing these night runs on your own."

"Hey, I don't mind. I have Charlie here to keep me company."

"Tell me you didn't actually name your fire axe."

"Then I'd be lying. Wouldn't I, Charlie?" I glance at Charlie in the passenger seat. His blade could use a polish. He's seen better days. Hell, we both have.

Another sigh from Darcy. "I want you to take Kevin next time."

"Sure, if you can get the kid to put down his camera and ring light long enough."

"Just get back soon. Darcy out."

"Nice talking to you too," I say to the radio static.

I drum my fingers against the wheel and wish the music stations still worked. I miss music. And movies. And apple pie at the Lakeview at 3 am. And sex. God damn do I miss sex.

A figure cuts through my jeep's headlight beams. Jesus! I slam on the brakes. I only catch a glimpse of his back before he disappears down a street corner. Black jeans, blue t-shirt. There was a slight limp to his run, he looked injured. What the hell is he thinking being out at night by himself?

I swerve my jeep to avoid a broken down police blockade. I think I see him further down the road, heading to that community center just off Queen Street. Slamming the gas, I consider radioing Darcy to say _See, it wasn't a stupid idea to do a run tonight._

After parking in a way that would horrify my father, I make my way to the building's entrance. Charlie's with me just in case. The community center opens into a large atrium, all glass windows and potted plants that are either dead or dying.

"Hello?" I shout. No answer. I swear I saw the survivor come in here. I lower my voice - I've been told I can be intimidating even when I'm not trying to be. "I'm not going to hurt you. There's a shelter east of here. It's a private school. There are other survivors and we have food and water. It's safe."

Still nothing. Well, shit. I've been doing this long enough to know not to poke at someone who feels cornered. "Alright, I get it. If you change your mind, we're at St. Peters Academy in Scarborough. The school's surrounded by tall gates, so we're protected. My name's Grant, if you ever…"

I stop there. Darcy's going to hate me for giving out my name and location without bringing anyone back. She can be mad if she wants. It's important this kid knows there's help out there for him. If he wants it.

Back in my jeep, I return to the road and wonder how the hell I'll be getting back to Scarborough in twenty minutes. Sure, there's no traffic to speak of, but the downtown core is crammed full of flaming wreckage. Kinda makes navigation tricky. To think that a population-decimating plague hasn't made driving in Toronto any less frustrating… I'd laugh if it wasn't so fucking morbid.

Lost in thought, I realize I've been circling the block around the community center instead of making any meaningful progress. I stop the jeep and try to map out a route in my head, letting my eyes wander across the road to an empty soccer field. Further ahead is a children's playground, blanketed in yellow caution tape. It's windy tonight and the tape flutters, battering against jungle gyms and see-saws that have gone unused for weeks. The city closed public places in the early days of the outbreak, squaring off pretty much every playground and park like crime scenes. It's eerie to see a safe space for children is now a ghostly relic.

A scream rings through the night that makes my arm hair go straight.

I don't know if I can even call the noise a scream. It's almost an amalgamation of voices, high and deep, male and female, young and old. And angry. Very angry. What the hell is even capable of sounding like that?

Two figures run through the playground. One is the survivor in the blue shirt, the other is… is…

My hand slams the jeep's stick shift back into drive. Whatever is chasing the survivor is not human. I can't even say if it's a vampire, and that realization is absolutely paralyzing.

No, I can't freeze. Not now.

The survivor loses his footing in the playground sand and falls. His arms look bound together at his wrists, making movement awkward and difficult. He scrambles away from the shrill screaming thing - a fucking _banshee_ if there ever was one - but it's too fast. Another few seconds and it'll be on top of him.

I slam the gas.

My jeep rockets forward, wet sand churning beneath the wheels. The closer I get the more I realize just how fucking demonic this Banshee looks. My mind takes in several details at once: oily black hair that runs the length of its naked, sexless body; impossibly broad shoulders; skeletal arms and legs that are longer than they should be; curled talons for fingers and toes. Then the hateful, grinning mouth, the razor fangs…

It may have the nasty dental work of a vampire, but a vampire isn't seven or eight feet tall. They don't have hair. They don't disengage from their prey to smile and wave - actually fucking wave! - at me as my jeep comes barreling toward them.

That ugly smirk is wiped from the Banshee's face as its struck by the immense force of the vehicle. Its body flies back several feet before crashing into the jungle gym. Then it mercifully falls, limp and still.

With Charlie in hand I tear out of the jeep. The survivor's fearful stare is trained on the monster. I don't think he's registered my presence yet. "Hey, are you okay?"

It's a stupid question. He's not.

I extend a hand to him. He notices me, his panicked gaze focused right on my face. It's not the most appropriate thought I've ever had, but I'm struck by how good looking he is. Mid-20s, with dark hair that falls messily to his forehead, almond-shaped eyes, full lips, and cheekbones that reach the sky. Can't help but notice how delicate he seems; it's obvious he hasn't had a good meal in a while. Instead of making him get up, I crouch beside him.

"Can you stand?"

His attractive features turn serious and hard. "Stay away from me."

"Hey, I'm only trying to help. My name's Grant, I'm a wildland firefighter. Or I _was_ , anyway-"

"I said stay back!"

"Okay, buddy. Have it your way. I'm backing off, see?"

I put some space between us and even put Charlie back in the axe sling behind my back to put him at ease. The survivor waits a beat before standing. His entire body trembles, like it's taking every ounce of strength for him to stay upright.

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," he replies, almost annoyed. Gotta say, in all my years of rescuing people, I've never seen a reaction quite like his. He continues, "You should get back in your car. More of them will be out here soon."

He starts moving away from the playground. I follow, still not quite understanding his tone.

"Hold on. What the fuck was that thing with the long hair? It looked like- I-"

"I don't know. Stop talking, the vamps are going to hear you." His annoyance with me isn't subtle this time. Despite his youthful appearance, his voice belongs to someone years older.

"It's not safe out here. You need to come with me."

The survivor ignores me and continues to walk away. Alright, time to play hardball. I grab his shoulder and spin him around, forcing him to face me. For a beat we stare at each other, neither of us moving. I can tell from the look in his eyes that if he had a weapon he wouldn't hesitate to use it on me if he thought it was necessary.

"Get your hand off me."

"You're not listening. It's dangerous to be out here alone."

Something behind us hisses and clicks - the telltale vocalization of the infected. My first thought is the Banshee, but it's still lying in a crumpled heap under the jungle gym. The survivor sees them first: a group of vampires emerging from the community center. They're closing in fast. Most of their clothes are torn and bloody; some of them have skin that's been partially flayed, revealing patches of muscle and gore.

It hits me that the Banshee's screaming - plus my arguing with the survivor - must have drawn their attention.

_You idiot. Get moving!_

I count four or five of the infected in our immediate vicinity, and then I see the dark soccer field beyond them. Huge crowds of vamps are scuttling, crawling, running right at us from all directions.

Something tells me Charlie won't be enough to take them all on.


	5. Adam

"GET DOWN!" the man with the axe shouts.

I drop, my knees buckling as much from the command as the icy fingers brushing the back of my neck. The man - Grant - swings his axe in a wide arc. Behind me, a vampire stumbles backward, sluggish spurts of blood jetting from its gaping neck wound.

I turn to the man who has now saved my life twice. He's tall and rugged, with an athletic build and intense, blue-grey eyes. His wavy, dark blond hair is an unlikely match for his reddish facial hair. Along with the plaid farmer's shirt straining against his chest, he's clearly stumbled out of a lumberjack-themed romance novel and hopped a few aisles to the horror genre.

"Follow me," he says, his voice strong and sure. "We'll be a lot safer on the road."

A chorus of chittering gasps and snarls fill my ears. Grant runs for his jeep, motioning for me to follow. As much as I don't want to be in an enclosed space with an axe-wielding stranger, I can admit my options are limited right now.

"Come ON," he shouts. His hand grabs mine with unsurprising strength and together we run. I take the smallest amount of comfort in the fact that his fingers are as shaky and sweaty as mine.

We reach the jeep at the same time and split, me taking the passenger's side. He waits for me to slam the door before jumping behind the wheel. As he turns the key, an infected woman with half a face lunges at the hood. I can't help but recoil at the ghastly sight of her, the exposed flesh and skull bone, the broken jaw sprouting those obscene fangs. Are these monsters even alive? Can they feel the damage done to their bodies?

Grant slams the jeep in reverse, throwing the woman off as she shrieks in frustration. More vampires run at us. The jeep spins away from the playground with a squeal. Grant pulls the wheel left and right, and then we're back on the street. I grip my seatbelt like it's the only thing keeping my insides from exploding. Grant grabs a radio receiver off his belt.

"Darcy, pick up." He waits a beat and then a grumpy sounding woman answers.

"Grant?"

"I found a survivor. We've got some fangs in pursuit. I can probably shake them off, but expect us to be coming in hot just in case. Okay?"

"Fuck," she says before ending the transmission.

Grant clips the device back onto his hip. "That's her way of saying yes."

The monsters are scattered now, but persistent. Dark figures move in and out of the shadows, drawn to the sound of the speeding car. There's still a significant crowd following us on foot. I stare straight ahead, breathing hard. Seeing the city from this perspective is surreal. The destruction, the carnage, the death. Bodies littering the streets. Predators stalking empty spaces. Has this really been my life for the past month? Running, hiding, surviving?

"What's your name?" Grant asks.

"What?"

"Your name. Tell me."

"Why?"

"So we can focus on something other than the bloodsucking freaks." He waits a beat. “Hey, I'm not giving up until you tell me. If I gotta chase you all night, I will."

I give him a sideways glance. The lilt of humor in his voice, and the hint of warmth in his eyes, are not entirely unwelcome.

"Adam."

"Adam," he repeats. "Real nice to meet you. Sorry it wasn't under nicer circumstances."

Silence engulfs the car as we put the downtown core behind us. Further away from the chaos, an empty stillness haunts every road, alley, and shadowed corner.

"Have you been on your own this entire time?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

I glare. "How many questions until this interrogation is over?"

"Sorry. Didn't mean it like that."

Settling back into our tense silence, I admit I understand his surprise. Watch any action-heavy apocalyptic movie, the leading man doesn't look like me. He looks like the man sitting beside me: square jawed, rugged, strong. Something tells me Grant's never been handcuffed to a radiator pipe and had to bluff a sexual favor just long enough to make an extremely narrow escape.

His eyes shift to my handcuffs. "What happened?"

I squirm, trying to cover my sore and bloodied wrists with my hands. "It doesn't matter."

"One of the survivors back at the shelter is a police officer. He's a, uh, interesting guy. A rookie. Still has his duty belt, could probably pop those cuffs off you no problem. What do you say?"

"No thanks."

"Sorry?"

I check the rearview mirror for vampires. Most of them have given up the chase, but still, you can never be too careful. "As soon as the coast is clear, I'm getting out of the car."

"See, I only turned 30 a week ago so my hearing can't possibly be this bad already."

"I can't stay at a shelter. I appreciate the ride and all but I'm going to North York."

"What the hell is in North York? There's no getting beyond Steeles Avenue. The barricades-"

"I know about the barricades," I shoot back testily. "I haven't spent the last month in a coma."

"Awfully jealous of anyone who has." A joke, maybe to mask how nervous he suddenly sounds. "Adam, it's not safe out there on your own.”

"It's not up to you."

He searches my face. "Every night there's more and more of those freaks and less of us. And the less of us there are, the more desperate they become."

"I know. Again, not a coma patient."

"Look, playing the badass loner will get you killed. Trust me. The only way to get through this is to stick with other people."

I stare straight ahead, my palms getting sweaty against my lap. Grant sighs and switches up his tone - softer and more understanding. There must be something in my silence that he can read.

"I've been there, okay? I've lost people, too."

I'm struck with an obtrusive flashback to Oliver and I in our apartment. It's all I can see, clear as day, filling my vision. His charming smile, my hand lovingly caressing the soft scruff of his face. He liked to tease me over how I couldn't grow anything beyond a few whiskers. Then he'd say he liked my face just that way it was, that it was the only face he wanted to wake up to every day…

When I emerge from the memory it's as if I've broken through the surface of a lake I'd been drowning in.

"Whatever I lost," I begin, trying to control my breath, "I lost a long time ago. And I don't want to lose anything else."

Grant's look in my direction is brief but meaningful. "Then stay with me. I can protect you."

Then something drops onto the roof of the jeep.

The heavy abruptness of the impact rocks the vehicle to one side. Grant grabs at the wheel, desperately reorienting us back onto the road before we crash. There's a thundering clap of rending metal as a clawed hand tears through the roof. I see the monster, crouched above us on the roof rack crossbars, long black hair dancing wildly in the furious wind. The seven-foot beast that was chasing me…

"The fucking banshee!" Grant shouts.

As its mouth pulls back and unleashes an evil, head-filling wail, I immediately understand the comparison.

"Get down!" I scream as its claws swipe blindly through the inner compartment. Its arm is rail thin yet seems inhumanly strong, with gelatinous skin the color and texture of melted candle wax. It flails around for a few moments before its bony hand finds my arm.

The cars veer wildly to the left, jumping the curb and sliding toward a brick building. Unbalanced, the Banshee loses its grip on my arm. Grant jerks the wheel but it's too late to avoid the wall entirely. Metal shrieks and a brilliant flash of sparks illuminate the leering, ghoulish grin of the Banshee. Its eyes, two bottomless pits of darkness, are trained right on me.

And only me. 

The Banshee rears its arm back to take another swipe at the jeep. Grant slams the gas and pulls a hard left. The vehicle fishtails, back end crashing against an abandoned truck in another furious burst of sparks. The implacable demon above us jerks back from the impact, but quickly pulls itself forward again. It pushes its face through the hole in the roof, filling the car with the scent of rotting meat and garbage, that permanently grinning mouth gnashing up and down. Like it's laughing at us…

One hand still fighting the wheel, Grant pulls something from under his seat and aims it upward. Before I can even register the fact that that he's holding a gun, Grant pulls the trigger. A large patch of waxy skin explodes off the Banshee's cheek as the bullet penetrates through to its nose, cartilage separating from bone with a wet crunch. The creature snaps backward, its scream now a liquid gurgle. Then it's gone, flung from the roof and back into the night.

I turn to Grant, feeling a sudden and hysterical laughing fit coming on. There are so many things I could say right now, but my first and most immediate thought is the one that makes it out of my mouth.

"You had a gun this whole time?"

Grant holds up the pistol, tosses it to me. I react like a live grenade has just been thrown into my lap.

"Jesus!"

"I only had one bullet left. I was saving it for an emergency."

I lift the weapon from my lap. It's surprisingly heavy. Even though the chamber is empty, it still makes me nervous. I gingerly place the weapon on the hand rest between us.

"I guess saving my life was an emergency."

"It was," he says with no hesitation. Grant's breathing just as hard as I am, with sweat beading his reddened face. He looks less like a romance novel hero and more like a real person now. My urge to freak out passes.

"Thanks," I manage.

"Don't mention it. You okay?"

Before I can answer, a dark figure up ahead comes galloping toward the jeep. The Banshee again!

A gasp catches in my throat as it pounces onto the hood and smashes the windshield with one powerful strike. I catch a glimpse of Grant's white knuckles on the wheel, that square jaw clenching with effort. The car spins, screeching, buildings and streetlights flashing by so fast that my already empty stomach twists inside out. Everything is a distorted blur, and then-

_BLAM!_

An explosion of sound, glass shattering and metal tearing as the jeep slams into something solid, throwing me against my seat belt. The impact hurls the Banshee off the hood and sends it sailing through the night. 

Silence.

I take in a huge gulp of oxygen, as if I haven't breathed in hours. I look around and try to identify where we've ended up. A neighbourhood street, sandwiched between two rows of low brick bungalow houses. Trembling, I get out of the car. We've smashed head-on into the trunk of a tree. The front of the jeep is totaled beyond all repair.

"Shit," Grant mutters, inspecting the mangled vehicle. "Darcy's gonna rip my nads off for this."

I start to reply when I notice the twitching figure across the road. The Banshee has been impaled on a broken street pole right through the back of its head. Its white body spasms, hands opening and closing, grasping blindly but finding nothing. 

I approach, hesitant and slow, trying to get my tangled emotions under control. After a few more twitches, it goes still. I'd almost feel sorry for the thing if it hadn't been so intent on tearing me to shreds. Whatever this monster was, I don't ever want to think about it again.

I turn back to the road when a floor-tilting wave of nausea and dizziness crashes into me. The strength to stand has completely left my body. My mind reels with an inventory of the last few days: haven't eaten in 36 hours; got knocked out with a chunk of cinderblock; jumped two stories off a fire escape, injuring my shoulder; survived a close call with a gas explosion that's still making my ears ring; and my adrenaline has been blasting nonstop thanks to a car chase from hell. I'm surprised it took this long for my body to finally call it quits.

The pavement rushes toward my face - and I'm so fucking tired I can't even brace myself for impact - but then two strong arms catch me before I fall.

"Whoa there," Grant says somewhere in the foggy haze. I take in his scent, woodsy and masculine, with a hint of sweat. Suits him. "I got you. You're safe now."

"No," I start to protest but consciousness is slipping away like water through my fingers.

"You're safe now," Grant repeats.

"Safe?" I sound so weak and confused, like a child. The following words catch on my lips, sleepy and half-formed: "No such thing…"

And then a wave of darkness takes me.


End file.
